


Something Missing

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Condoms, Loneliness, M/M, POV Third Person Limited, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 09:35:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13587303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: Ray can't find any condoms.





	Something Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Angst-to-hope ratio: high.

Fraser is lying in Ray’s bed wearing nothing but a (tender, horny, enthusiastic) smile, and Ray is scrabbling through the nightstand drawer, which does not contain any fucking condoms.  Finally, in frustration, he dumps the whole thing on the floor, sending coins and ancient receipts and cough drops and Kleenex and God knows what all flying, but still no joy.  Not a single rubber.

“Just a sec, be right back,” he tells Fraser as he sprints for the bathroom, but there are no condoms there, either.  Not in the medicine cabinet, not under the sink, not in the shower rack or the trash can or the toilet tank.

Frantic, he tosses the kitchen, flinging spoons and pizza menus and electrical tape and string and rubber ducks every which way.

“Ray. . .Ray. . .Ray. . .” Fraser remonstrates, standing there butt-naked on the grubby linoleum with the cruft of Ray’s daily life piling up around his feet. 

“Come back to bed,” he says, holding out his hand, and Ray yells, “I _can’t,_ I gotta find the _condoms,_ ” and Fraser shakes his head, looking so disappointed, disappointed _with Ray—_

—and that’s when Ray jerks awake.  In bed, of course.  Alone, of course. 

And of course there are no condoms, because Fraser is two thousand miles and a border crossing away and Ray hasn’t had sex in longer than he can even count at this point, long enough that the last time he even _thought_ about it, one Saturday night when he figured he’d haul his sorry ass out to some club and see if he could get laid, he checked the nightstand drawer and discovered that the strip of condoms in there was expired and threw the damn thing out, and then stayed home watching terrible black and white movies on TV.

And apparently his stupid brain couldn’t suspend disbelief about that for long enough to let him have a stupid dream, even though it had no problem with the concept of Fraser magically teleporting into Ray’s bed, _wanting_ him, Jesus _Christ._   Even more stupid, why couldn’t his dreaming brain have said, _No condoms?  No problem, Fraser will fix that!_   Because real-life Fraser would totally have pulled a strip of Trojans out of his belt pouch, or made emergency rubbers out of. . .Saran Wrap or plastic gloves or electrical tape or whatever.

Or he would have said, _It doesn’t matter, we’ll buy some tomorrow, there are other things we can do, come kiss me._   Or even (Ray swallows and squeezes his eyes tight, but there’s no one to see him here in the dark at whatever-the-fuck-o’clock). . .or even, _We don’t need them, I trust you, Ray._

Fraser’s lucky he doesn’t have a phone.  Given Ray’s history of drunk-dialing.  Not that Ray’s drunk, but the middle of the night can be worse, sometimes, for making you want to do impulsive, useless, pathetic shit.  But Fraser’s off the grid and Ray’s shit-out-of-luck, which apparently, he understands even when he’s asleep.

The bleary red numbers on the alarm clock read 3-something, he’s pretty sure.  He punches his pillow a couple of times, smushes his face into it, and gets on with pretending he’s going to be able to get any more sleep tonight.


End file.
